My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy

As Chaste As Unsunned Snow.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

For Thy Sweet Love Remember'd Such Wealth Brings That Then I Scorn To Change My State With Kings.

So Shalt Thou Feed On Death, That Feeds On Men.

The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome In His Own Deliciousness.